Edmonds Becomes the Guy Out There

Somebody stopped by Friday to deliver his shirt. It was a freshly laundered Angel home jersey with the club’s 35th anniversary commemorative emblem stitched onto the left sleeve, but sewn now onto the other sleeve was a companion patch, one that read 1995 All-Star Game that had twisted into full view from the front of its hanger.

Jim Edmonds would leave soon for Texas and had no clue how he would do in Tuesday’s game. Maybe the manager of the American League’s stars would scour his dugout for a left-handed pinch-hitter with two gone in the bottom of the ninth and call upon Edmonds to dig in against, oh, Todd Worrell. And maybe then Edmonds would chase home Cal Ripken with the winning run, or even Gary DeSarcina.

Or maybe he’d strike out.

“Don’t care,” Edmonds says.

Whatever happens, happens. Because the nature of this profession is that a guy can go from being an anonymous, wanna-be major leaguer to being an actual one on strike, watching his work done by anonymous, wanna-be players, to the overnight fame of being invited to the same game that once sent RSVPs to fellow outfielders such as Ruth, Aaron, DiMaggio, Mays and Clemente. So, how well you succeed in this game, that is a throw-in. Noteworthy, but not particularly relevant.

The boy from Diamond Bar has not forgotten a summer a few years back, finding a vantage point, high in the grandstand behind home plate.

He had just turned 19 and his eyes were full of wonder as Bo Jackson led off for the AL’s all-stars by tagging Rick Reuschel’s pitch to the tarp in deepest center field. And then Wade Boggs stepped in and cleared a fence at Anaheim Stadium as well. It really hadn’t dawned on Edmonds that he might ever be the one standing out there in center field, or the one batting as an all-star one fine July.

“You stand there and you think, ‘Someday that’ll be me out there, playing big league ball,’ ” says Edmonds, now the starting center fielder for the Angels and a reason why they could win their first pennant. “And a minute later you’re reminding yourself, ‘Yeah, right. Me and 500 other guys, standing here thinking the same thing. What chance do I have?’ ”

You keep plugging. You listen. You learn.

As a kid in the suburban beauty of Diamond Bar, Edmonds paid attention to Randy Kapano, who coached him not only in Little League but in high school. Edmonds describes him as someone who “can take a kid who can barely swing a bat and make them a good hitter in a year or two.”

This likewise describes Rod Carew, who has become guru to the Angel batters that have battered American League pitching this season. Carew has been to a few of these all-star affairs himself. He knows how to get you there. He knows how you should enjoy yourself there.

“Carew’s the one who gave me the advice,” Edmonds says. “ ‘Bring a video camera.’ ”

Had things worked out differently and Edmonds been given these few days off, he would have headed directly for the Colorado River, same stretch in Arizona where he always goes, to jet-ski his vacation hours away. Carew would have gone along, Edmonds says. Possibly Tim Salmon would have gotten a boat and together they could navigate the river, jet-skiing and talking hitting.

It seemed so far-fetched that this Angel team could have four all-stars and none of them would be Chili Davis (now hitting .359), Salmon (15 homers) or pitcher Mark Langston (7-1). It seemed less likely that their star in the making would be Edmonds. After a dozen games, his batting average was .195. But after 20 games, it was .229. After 30, it was .262. After 50, it was .287. After 60, it was .311. He shot up like a stock.

With a dozen homers and 49 RBIs to boot.

“I can honestly say that I am surprised by his power numbers,” Manager Marcel Lachemann says. “Jimmy’s one of those hitters who always knows where the head of the bat is. He sometimes looks like he’s fooled, but he handles the bat so well that he can still take the pitch to the opposite field.”

A couple nights ago, Edmonds accepted an Angel player-of-the-month award, mainly in recognition of his 23-game hitting streak.

But scoreboard highlights also featured him diving onto the warning track to make a catch, crashing off the fence to make a catch, charging madly and leaving skid marks with a slide to make another catch. Edmonds’ early batting slump was worrisome, but Lachemann based his reluctance to bench him on something else, saying, “His defense precluded us from taking him out of there.”

On Jan. 31, 1994, Edmonds’ spirit had been crushed because the Angels signed the very man he had marveled at five years before, Bo Jackson, to play for them, as well as acquiring outfielder Dwight Smith that same day. Edmonds felt abandoned, yet was wise enough to add that he understood how quickly things could change in this game.

A year and two months later, he sat at camp in Tempe, Ariz., assessing his upcoming season. Jackson and Smith were long gone.

Although the Angels technically owed him nothing and could have simply renewed his contract, they gave Edmonds a couple of incentives, not for production but for things like plate appearances. Edmonds appreciated it because he said he didn’t trust incentives, that players should worry about more important things. He said, “Most guys playing major league baseball aren’t, well, I won’t say capable, but not willing to work 9 to 5.”

Jim Edmonds works, even on nights when many don’t.

Tuesday will be one of them.